The Weight On My Shoulders
by WLiiAfanatic
Summary: OneShot. You never know who you might meet on a slow night. Rating for slight language and some slash


**Disclaimer: **Much to my utter discontent, I don't own "The Simpsons", or the characters in this story.

**Author's Note:** Hi, everyone! Unless you're into The Fairly Odd Parents, you probably haven't seen me around the site before. Which makes this my first Simpsons fic! Yay!

I've been toying with ideas for Simpsons fiction for a while now. It was harder than I thought to find an idea I could stick with, mainly because there are SO many people in Springfield you could write stories about. (It didn't help that my friends' suggestions involved outlandish plots like Maggie growing a two-foot beard either.) My favorite character to pair people with, though, is Moe. And that's where this comes from. What if Moe's regular customers had something else to do one night, and someone else walked in the door? What would they talk about? How would they touch each others' lives? I tried to think of the loneliest, most heartbroken person in Springfield other than Moe. The first one that came to mind was Smithers.

I really hope you all enjoy this first attempt, because I really enjoyed writing it, and it'd be a shame to keep all this joy to myself.

**The Weight On My Shoulders**

He hated these kind of nights.

Not that they came often. Normally the faithful barflies would sulk in their stools all night. Even until dawn, in some cases. But not tonight. Tonight, there was a bachelor party to attend. Tonight, he was left alone.

He sighed as he absent-mindedly cleaned a beer mug. _This is how it's always going to be_, he thought. _Just Moe and the mugs_.

The door squeaked as it opened.

Moe looked up excitedly, hoping it would be one of the regulars standing in the doorway. Instead, he saw a somewhat younger man. He was put together, from his shoes to his short, brown hair. Moe scowled.

The man nervously seated himself on a stool at the end of the bar.

"What can I get for you?" Moe asked bitterly. "A wine cooler?"

He cleared his throat. "No," he answered, either not realizing or not caring that he'd been insulted. Perhaps a little of each. "A beer would be fine."

Moe held the glass he was drying off under the tap, filled it, and slid it over in the man's direction.

"Thank you."

Moe grunted in response and turned his direction to the door.

The man studied his beer carefully. It'd been quite a while since he'd had any form of alcohol. Rather, it'd been quite a while since he'd had the chance. Work kept him very busy. Not that he minded, of course. Work was a luxury. He'd spend any amount of time working. But he had the night off. A very rare occurance, and never a welcome one.

Finally, he took a sip. A _very _small one. _No need to gulp it down_, he reminded himself. _Just nurse it. It's not a competition. No one else is even here to compete against. Just you. Alone. In the bar. Alone._

He took a swig. The glass was half empty.

He hated nights like these. Not that they came often. Normally his boss was very dependent on his helping hand. But not tonight. Tonight, he was laughing it up with his army buddies. Tonight, Waylon was left alone.

He looked up at the barkeep. _Okay, so I'm not alone_, he thought. _Not technically, anyway_. He was tired of being alone. So he started a conversation. "Slow night?"

The barkeep shrugged. "Eh. I've seen worse."

Waylon lifted his elbow off the counter and studied the dust on his sleeve. "Well, maybe if you kept the place a little neater--"

"Are you criticizing me?" he barked at his customer.

"No, of course not. I was just--"

"Good!"

Waylon cleaned his sleeve off as discretely as possible and took another swig.

The bartender sighed. "Why'd you come in here, anyway?"

"You're the only place that's open."

This was a lie. The bar in his neighborhood was almost always open. But he didn't need the noise tonight. Or the company. The hoards of drunken men were the absolute_ last_ thing he needed to clear his head. But he couldn't think of any other answer.

Moe looked at the clock on his wall. It was ten to three. Right about now, the tap would be nearly dry. God, he missed his drunks. Sure, they were loud. They rarely remembered to pay. They were pretty insensitive on occasion. But, most importantly, they were his.

"Why are you open so late, anyway?"

Moe looked at the empty stools directly in front of him. "Just trying to please the customers."

The customer looked at the empty stools, too. "No regulars tonight."

"Nope."

Moe's customer didn't respond right away. Rather, he didn't respond at all. Maybe it was the desperation for human contact that made Moe want to keep the ball rolling. Or maybe it was the fact that this man looked like he was willing to pay for his drink. Maybe it was the fact that the look set in his eyes was one that was all too familiar. No matter what the reason, he kept talking. "They'll be back though. I know they will. There's just a party tonight. Big party. A party that don't need the likes of Moe."

"I take it you're Moe?"

He nodded.

Waylon wasn't sure how he wanted to give his name. His first name was the one he grew up with. The one his family and neighbors addressed him with. But his last name was the one his co-workers addressed him with. The one his boss addressed him with. And he'd come to like that one even more.

"I'm Smithers. Waylon Smithers. But Smithers is fine."

Moe looked at his new companion. "You got any friends, Smithers?"

Smithers started to answer, but he didn't get the chance to finish.

"I have a few friends, I guess. Just the people that come in here. But most of them have lives outside of here. Big houses. Dinners that don't require defrosting. One guy even has a wife. Beautiful wife." He was spilling his guts here, but he didn't care. As long as this Smithers guy was listening, he'd keep talking. "And I'm afraid that one day he's going to stop coming here and spend more time with her. 'Cause she deserves it. She really does. That girl's one in a thousand. If she were more assertive, she could have him by her side twenty-four hours a day. She could have any man. I know she has my attention."

Moe glanced at Smithers to make sure he was still listening. He was. Very intently, in fact. _This guy must listen for a living_, Moe thought. And that's what made him go even deeper. "And then there was that kid."

"A child, Moe?" Smithers asked. He was so careful not to say "sir". _So _careful. It was so hard to break the habit, even for that one time.

Moe nodded. "That girl's kid. Saved her life. Her father's so goddamn negligent, I'm amazed she lived to be as old as she is. But that kid, man... I really bonded with that kid. But I guess I got too attached and her parents got a little nervous."

Smithers cleared his throat. He _definitely_ didn't like where this story was going. That thought wasn't as private as he intended it to be, though, because Moe saw it right in his face.

"Are you calling me a pedophile?" he asked defensively. "Because I'm not. I swear, it was nothing like that. It was just a friendship. A friendship that got too out of hand. I cared for that girl like she was my own daughter. But unless her dad's watching her and he brings her here with him instead of giving her the attention she deserves, I'll never see her again. Or at least until she's twenty-one. But by then she'll probably be far away from this town. Living a perfect life. Just like the rest of 'em."

Smithers was speechless. No one had ever opened up to him like that. Even his boss kept some things hidden from him.

Moe sighed heavily and ran his wrist over his eyes. "You ever love someone like that, Smithers?"

Maybe it was the longing to get it out in the open that made Smithers answer the question. Or maybe it was the alcohol in his system. Maybe it was the fact that this man trusted him enough to spill his guts to him. He loved being trusted. He was an assistant, after all. It came with the job. And this Moe person obviously wasn't the type of person who did that often. Whatever it was, it made Smithers unafraid of judgment. "I do."

"Yeah?" Moe asked. He really wanted to hear more. _Really_ wanted to. As much as he loved being able to do all the talking, he loved hearing other peoples' problems. He was a bartender, after all. It came with the job.

"Yeah. It's a different kind of love, though. That forever kind of love between a man and a woman. Or, in this case," he cleared his throat, "a man and a man."

Moe cocked an eyebrow. He should have known by the sweater vest that he was talking to a homo. He didn't have anything against them, really. He knew from living experience that everyone should get a shot at love. But it was still a little unsettling. He didn't want Smithers to feel like he couldn't go on, though. So he said to him, "All right."

Smithers looked slightly relieved. "Well, I'm not sure. I know I'd love him just as much if he wasn't a man. The real problem is his age. No one's quite sure how old he is. A _lot _older than me, of course. Old enough to not do much for himself. And that's where I come in. My job is to cater to his every whim. It's been that way for years. But I've never minded. In fact, I... I really like it."

"Really?"

Smithers was trying his absolute hardest to keep from crying. "I do," he answered, "Because I know I can never be with him. He's too old-fashioned to accept the idea of himself with any guy, and just too old. He'd be dead before... before..."

In spite of himself, Smithers started tearing up. He pushed his almost empty mug aside and buried his head in his arms. He rarely thought about his boss dying, especially not in public. It always led to tears.

Moe surprised himself by actually feeling bad for Smithers. "Hey, come on," he said. But he didn't have the slightest clue what to add. Not many people cried in his presence, so he didn't have much experience on how to deal with the situation. He did know that it was his question that brought on the tears. That was one thing Moe could always figure out; what was his fault. "I didn't mean to say anything that... well, you know."

Smithers sat up and dried his eyes on his sleeve. "No, it's all right," he answered. "It was actually nice to get it off my chest."

"Good." Moe smiled. He'd felt like the world was lifted off his shoulders himself. No one had actually bothered to listen to his problems before. It was a great feeling.

Smithers looked up at the clock. He had to get home. He needed some sleep before work. His boss required a lot of energy. Energy that was put to good use, of course. But energy is energy. Smithers stood up, dug into his pocket, and pulled out a ten dollar bill. "Here," he set it on the counter. "Keep the change."

Moe glanced at the clock. It _was _getting late. He should probably think about heading back to his dilapidated little house. The bar could only get lonelier after Smithers left.

"Thanks," he said. "For, um, everything that you did."

"I should be the one thanking you," Smithers said to Moe before walking towards the door.

"If you're ever in the neighborhood again," Moe called after him. "You, uh, know where I'll be."

Smithers smiled. "I'll have to stop by more often."

The door squeaked again as it closed.


End file.
